


Janus Rising

by aeroson



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Military, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, There's going to be a lot of swearing, protagonist isn't really a protagonist, seriously lots of swearing, some smut too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9476159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeroson/pseuds/aeroson
Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Soren returns to Gibraltar with Reyes and has issues readjusting to life outside the battlefield. Written in an insomnia-fueled daze. Contains mentions of depression, PTSD, lots of swearing and some low-key smut later. Not sure about continuation tbh.





	1. Fly

**Author's Note:**

> This fic deals with mental health issues and I don’t want anyone at risk to get triggered, so please just be aware. If you do decide to read I hope it is interesting and enjoyable. I started out with general action/romance intentions, but I ended up adding a lot more to it in terms of my OC's mental condition and how she deals with what she's been through. Flashbacks seemed to write themselves naturally into this fic, so if I continue with this I expect there'll be a lot more of those. Super open to constructive criticism and your thoughts. Might go back and edit randomly.

“Soren. Wake up.”

Her eyes slowly parted, marking an end to the dreams that played in front of her irises. She’d fallen asleep upright on the noisiest aircraft in the world. She was so tired. No, that didn’t cut it. Exhausted. Fatigued. Emotionally and physically drained. Bruised, bloody and battered. Hungry. Four whole months of fighting and hiding in a wasteland of terror with only her partner to keep her somewhere near the realm of sane.

“We back already?” She cocked her head towards the voice on her right, eyes not fully adjusted to the dark interior of the aircraft’s cargo bay. Reyes was sitting right next to her.

“You’ve been out for 4 hours.” A hint of jealousy ran through his voice. Then again, Reyes always had a gruff tone. She could never tell with him.

“Beauty sleep, my friend. Get some.” She bit back without a trace of humor in her voice and closed her eyes again. She and Reyes had been around each other for too long to care about any kind of niceties. She had come to appreciate the harsh honesty and grit that seeped through his personality. She used to think she was the most cynical person she knew, until she met Reyes.

“Doesn’t seem to have done anything for you. You’ve still got blood on your face by the way.” Thanks, Reyes. She half-heartedly wiped at her forehead and sure enough, felt flaked blood falling from there. Her arm dropped down to her lap lazily. They hadn’t showered in days. If she could be bothered to open her eyes again, she would have found something to comment about Reyes’ appearance, she was sure. But she didn’t have the energy or the care to keep the conversation going. Both she and Reyes knew when to shut up, when talking wasn’t necessary. It’s probably why they were able to tolerate each other. Maybe they were becoming friends. She let out a breathy laugh at that thought, then stopped herself. She shouldn't be laughing. The altitude of the plane shifted, signalling preparation for landing.

Mental preparation for the reintroduction to Gibraltar base was absolutely necessary. After four months you’d think she was ready for a shower, a bed, familiar faces. Instead, she wanted the pilot to leave the plane running, to curl up on the floor of the cargo bay and feel the hum of the aircraft through her bones. She’d already proven she could fall asleep in the thing. She knew she wasn’t ready to sit still, to feel stagnant, to be surrounded by calm, a quiet body. After four months of this she had grown to accept their situation. It felt wrong and impossible to just leave it all aside and go back to how things were.

She assumed Reyes was thinking something similar as she finally turned to look at him. His deep concentration on a scuff mark on the floor of the bay was interrupted by the unmistakable jostling as wheels hit tarmac. That throttling decrease in speed shifted them to the right, before mellowing out as the pilot taxied the plane into the hangar.

Still in silence, they unfastened their harnesses and gathered their effects; two duffel bags full of guns, equipment and a few pieces of clothing. They knew how to pack light.

Two minutes later the cargo door shifted out and down with a loud metal groan. Soren and Reyes walked down, making way for the cargo team who would unload supplies from the aircraft. Only then did she notice both of them had a slight limp. She turned around and gave a mock salute to the pilot who had jumped down from the cockpit.

They made their way out of the hangar and to the main base in silent, anxious companionship.

She and Reyes had grabbed a quick bite to eat in the cafeteria, after what felt like days without a proper meal. It was 0130 so there was no staff around, but thankfully a few leftovers remained in the fridge from the night currently passing.

She was just about to turn the corner toward her barracks when Reyes stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. They looked at each other. There wasn’t really anything right to say to someone you trusted your life to and had been through so much with. _Good job? Nice work out there, buddy?_ None of that worked. She wished he hadn’t stopped her. She wanted this to be done now.

“We did what we had to do,” Reyes stated, his voice wavering minutely. It was a fucking lie and they both knew it.

His attempt to comfort, or whatever it was, provided no comfort at all. Still, she mirrored him and pressed a hand into his shoulder, squeezing for a moment before he turned away from her and headed in the opposite direction to his own room. She was still for a moment while she watched his retreating figure. She urged herself not to reflect and to simply walk.

She passed 10 other rooms, no doubt in which her comrades were sleeping soundly. She kept her footfalls light until she reached the end of the hallway. Room C17. Home sweet home.

Everything was as she had left it before the departure. Not that she had many belongings; a bed, a few clothes and underarmour hanging from a clothes rack, weights and an empty balcony.

She dumped the duffel rather loudly just outside the bathroom, turned on the shower to a cool temperature and began the labour of stripping her armour and boots.

The water ran over her bruises, coloured a faint yellow against her dark skin. Red and brown washed down her limbs and into the drain.

 

* * *

 

_Unfortunately, they weren't just dealing with a civil war. That might have been easier, kinder, but civil unrest naturally created a breeding ground for terror. Privileged or idealistic underdogs who didn't accept the establishment finally had a chance to have their say. Loudly. They were up against factions, different leaders with different reasons for fighting. When the job should have been simple and covert they were suddenly surrounded by 50 other oppressors who demanded attention. They needed to be brought down or maimed._

_By the start of month number three, Winston and Morrison were determined to pull them out. Soren had been in and out of consciousness for a week after a series of landmines went off during transport. It wasn't the first time she had been injured during the mission and it wouldn't be the last. She remembered one moment drifting back up and opening her eyes to see a makeshift hospital bed and crude equipment all around her, an IV through her vein. Reyes was screaming at the transmitter. She’d never seen him so angry._

_“There is no fucking way you're pulling us out, Morrison!”_

_“It's too fucking soon. Give us a chance.”_

_He sounded crazed._

_Looking back, it was selfish of him. They didn't know how long it would take for her to recover. The mission had changed. It might have been better to fall back when they had been requested to do so. But Reyes had acted on pure anger and instinct. It was hard not to when you were surrounded by battlefield._

_She was back on her feet and more determined than ever four days later. They’d been allowed to continue. This time there was no end date to the mission. Reyes wanted to see it through to the end before even thinking about packing bags. She agreed._

_Overwatch was less convinced, and perhaps the pair had gone a little too rogue for their bosses’ tastes. Communication with Gibraltar was rare from that point onwards._

_After everything, after all the shit, they were recalled again. This time, Reyes didn't have the strength to fight back, to tell them to fuck off. Soren wasn't in command. She could have gone fully rogue, but she would die quickly on her own. How did that help anyone?_

_Still, the mission wasn't over for her._

 

* * *

 

 

She had been in there for a good 20 minutes when the smell suddenly hit her. Smoke. Her immediate thought was that someone had thrown an explosive into her room, but it was a subtle version of what she had been exposed to far too many times during the away mission. She sniffed again, deeper. Cigar.

She quickly changed into some black tights and a shirt, padding her hair with the towel until it stopped dripping.

She unlatched her balcony door and stepped out with bare feet. The cool of the tiles was welcoming in the humidity. Sliding the door closed behind her, a steel hand appeared from behind the wall that separated her balcony from her neighbour’s. It was holding a glass of whiskey. On the rocks. A beautiful sight.

“Welcome back.” He shook the glass a little in his hand, like an owner taunting a pet with it’s favourite toy.

She took those last few steps and claimed the glass, skimming his fingers with her own before she leant forward and saw him, cigar and all.

He wasn’t smiling. Instead of the carefree smirk she usually saw there, sad relief flooded his expression. His hat and serape were ditched in favour of clothing similar to what she had changed into. A form fitting black t-shirt. Hair tied back and out of his face. She couldn’t see the rest of him.

“Cheers.” She couldn’t offer more, so they just clinked their glasses together, both leaning out from their balconies. The whiskey was gone. He took the glass from her hand and disappeared behind the balcony partition. Expecting a refill, she waited and looked out over the expanse of dark sea lit by a sliver of moon. Gibraltar was well hidden, and strangely beautiful for a place that carried little happiness for her.

McCree didn’t come back to the balcony. Instead, she heard a faint knock at her door, before it opened and revealed two more filled glasses and the man himself carrying them towards her.

Once he was on the balcony with her the drinks were gone again too quickly. Glasses discarded to a nearby table, condensation dripping down and forming pools.

She hadn’t planned on speaking much tonight, but he stared at her, waiting. Their drinks were finished. No excuses.

“Hi.” _Well done, Keva._

He finally smirked, though his eyes crinkled more than she was used to; he was tired. As tired as she was? McCree offered something with a little more substance, “I missed ya.”

She just nodded. She had no energy for this reunion, couldn’t give it what it deserved. Her legs were starting to feel weak from holding her own weight, and her vision was not as sharp as usual.

Her expression must have betrayed her hopelessness, because McCree stepped into her space and threw his arms around her, holding on tightly. Her face was buried in his chest, and she reached her own arms up and around his stocky torso, to say thanks for not making her talk. She let out a sigh there, and his fingers moved against the skin of her back in comforting circles. She tightened her grip and closed her eyes.

“Go to bed,” the bass of his voice rumbled through her own body and it was calming, just like the hum of the aircraft. “We can talk later.”

They parted and she rubbed at her eyes, feeling her exhaustion so acutely now. She nodded again. And yawned. Very loudly.

There was that smirk again.

 

* * *

 

_The most depressing part was that they had expected to succeed, and they didn't. The 14 hour flight was a goddamn joke designed to torture them into realising all their mistakes and disappointments._

_How could they so quickly go from battle to base, knowing what was still going on back there and that they hadn't made a dent in eradicating the problem?_

 


	2. Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First night back. Reyes and Soren can't sleep.

It was around 0400 when she heard the quiet knock on her door.

After five attempts at sleep and no success, she had given up. So she was sitting up in bed, scrolling through the news she had missed from the last few months on her tablet. 

She half expected it to be McCree again, changing his mind and wanting to talk and catch up. Thankfully, it was just Reyes. She was obviously not ready for McCree.

Her now former partner was also wearing black, Overwatch-issued sleepwear. She’d never seen him barefoot before. Even when they’d slept next to each other they were always outfitted and ready to go, ready to run. He looked strangely vulnerable without his combat boots. Perhaps he thought the same when looking at her. She couldn’t wear her armour all the time, unfortunately. 

“Reyes?” She mumbled, though she already knew why he must be here.

“Can't fucking sleep.” He was already pushing past her and into her room before he finished the explanation. “You either, huh?” He spotted the news article glowing from her bed, the only source of light in the room. 

“Not a chance.” She was still by the door, which she closed quietly and locked. When she turned around, Reyes was pacing, keyed up and frantic. She watched him for a full minute.

Finally, “This isn't healthy behaviour.” She had meant it as an ironic joke but it came out too real and too harsh. Reyes stopped pacing and his face fell.

She motioned for him to sit on the edge of the bed with her. Their shoulders and arms pressed together and she was reminded of so many late night stake outs and moments of irritated pause before a mission when they would assume the same position.

“In a couple of hours we’ll go see the good doctor. We'll get some sleeping meds. We’ll debrief with Winston.” She disliked that last part the most, but it had to be done. She finished, “and maybe then we can rest.” She wasn't very confident in herself and wouldn't look at him, giving nothing away.

Perhaps minutes or an hour later, she lay down on the bed and made room for him on the other side. He joined her in silence, she on her side facing him, and he on his back, concerned about the ceiling. 

She waited until he mirrored her position, waited until she could look him in the eye.

“Did you see Morrison?” 

He had to know that question was coming. “Yes. He was asleep. I didn't want to bother him.” He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. But she was a friend, not trying to hurt or tease.

“I'm sure he wouldn't have minded, Reyes.” She knew little about the relationship between Reyes and the soldier, but she knew enough to be sure he would have wanted to see him ASAP after being gone so long. There was some hopeless complication they always seemed to be dealing with, getting in the way of what they both probably wanted and needed.

“How about you?” It was hypocritical but Reyes didn't need to know about her relationships. She was tight lipped.

“McCree fed me some whiskey.” She smirked a little at the way Reyes’ expression changed at the mention of alcohol. They had both been craving. “We didn't have much to say.”

“You mean  _ you  _ didn't have much to say?” He didn't miss a beat. She didn't respond.

At some point, the light from the tablet dimmed. A few minutes later she could hear deeper breathing from Reyes. 

Something in him had definitely broken. He no longer had an air of strength and confidence around him. Always so sure of himself, never failing to intimidate. That was the Reyes she and her comrades knew. She wondered how they would all take to his new cautious and feeble presence. She would help him be strong. Maybe he’d let Morrison help too.

Had she changed? If her encounter with McCree was anything to go by, she… she truthfully didn't know. She couldn’t wrap her head around herself, let alone the cowboy.

If everyone else could fall asleep, so could she...


	3. Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Readjustment & some shit happens

A quiet but insistent buzzing woke her. Reyes was gone, replaced by a soft stream of sunlight hitting her bed. She reached for the phone on her nightstand. 

_ 0650. _

Two and a half hours of sleep was good enough for her. She stretched her arms a little and found her way to the edge of the bed where she stretched her legs out. She was definitely feeling all the aches across her body this morning.

There was a message from Reyes:

_ Soren. Gone to speak to Jack. Meet you at Ziegler’s office at 0700. She’s expecting us for a full checkup. _

_ Thanks for last night. _

So the first order of business was already underway. She rinsed off under a cool shower and threw on some pants, a fresh t-shirt and her boots which she neatly tucked her pants into before lacing them up methodically, just as she had done throughout her military service and every day since.

She met Reyes in front of Ziegler’s office just in time, and found his expression to be far away. He’d definitely talked to Jack, then.

The doctor seemed impressed that neither of them had broken bones. Soren was experiencing muscular exhaustion, which she could have diagnosed herself, from extensive physical activity (not the fun kind) and as a result of the internal wounds that were still healing. Reyes was much the same. They both twitched when she informed them they would have to undergo a psychological evaluation within the week as part of the debrief. 

These long missions always had long cool down periods, which helped keep the memories at the front of the mind. No solace just yet.

“Not so bad. I mean, apart from psych eval,” Soren frowned, turning the small blue pill bottle around in her hand as they left the office.

“I’ve been through enough of those to last a lifetime.” Reyes sighed. “We should get some breakfast. Get the whole reunion thing over and done with.”

She grunted in reply, masking her anxiety. They headed towards the cafeteria once again. 

_ The whole reunion thing. _ She remembered when she was on the other side of those. Comrades would return from away missions and they’d all bump into each other at some point. It was never a big affair though. A pat on the back, a tentative hug, well wishes, storytelling. But everyone on base had been thoroughly left in the dark about Reyes and Soren. They knew the pair had been recalled twice, and they new the basic mission parameters. That was all. They’d be asking questions, wanting to know details and most importantly, the outcome. 

_ The outcome. _

She wanted to run back to the doctor’s office and throw up in her trash can.

* * *

 

 

_ She threw up bile before she collapsed against the pillar. The two bullets lodged in her right thigh hadn’t gone clean through, and there was no way she could get them out. She struggled to rip her jacket sleeve off. It was far from clean, but it was all she had. She pressed the fabric into the pooling blood and held it there, seething through her teeth and holding back tears of pain. _

_ She let out a frustrated half groan, half scream, throwing her head back against the concrete, sandstone, whatever the fuck it was, it was hard. Self-inflicted injury felt like nothing at this point. _

_ “Where the fuck did you go, Reyes?” She gasped. _

_ “I’m on my way. Hold on Soren.” He sounded like he was running. Good. _

_ “Fuck.” The third bullet had hit her in the shoulder. The pain was as sharp as anything, but she was less concerned about her arm than her leg. She couldn’t move from her position without two working legs, or without leaning heavily on Reyes. _

_ She heard the scuffling of feet coming from somewhere behind her. She instantly calmed her heavy breathing. She looked around in a panic. Where was her gun? She could crawl, she couldn’t fight.  _

_ She was a complete fucking idiot. _

_ Her gun, thrown at least three metres away from her, would be spotted by whoever was walking around. _

_ Then - gunshots. A silencer. Most likely Reyes, she prayed. A body falling to the floor without grace. Quiet, rushed footsteps towards her position.  _

_ She was prepared to do an awkward roundhouse kick with her good leg from her dumbass position on the floor of the blown up temple. _

_ Footsteps came around to her side of the pillar. Never mind. That would have been embarrassingly uncoordinated.  _

_ “Jesus- fuck, Soren.” Reyes bent down to help her up, steadying her weight against him. There was no way she could contain the blood now. She let it flow down her limbs as she was half carried, half limped towards their transport out of this hell hole. _

* * *

 

She was brought out of her daze when Reyes shoved a meal tray to her chest. He gave her a second to take it, but she let it fall to the ground before clumsily grasping for it. Reyes eyed her before turning away and filling his tray with food.

“I can see that military reflex is still going strong?” He jabbed. She didn’t laugh because she was too perplexed by the small grin he flashed at her.

“You’re joking.” She pointed it out as if it was something he needed to get looked at by the doctor right away. She joined him and put far too much food on her tray.

“Come on.” Reyes was ahead of her, and pushed through the swinging doors that led to the dining hall. She was sure some of her comrades would be in there by now. Before she could think about it any further, she steeled her expression and slipped in behind Reyes just before the door closed.

Immediately, a roar of welcome comes from the largest man in the room. 

“Willkommen, my friends!” Reinhardt jumped from his seat at the sight of the two familiar faces, forcing the table he was sitting at to edge forward two feet. Reyes and Soren were still for a moment, regarding their faces. The Shimadas, Morrison and McCree were sitting at the table together. 

Soren’s shoulders relaxed, though her heart still beat furiously. This group was good. She couldn’t handle everyone at once. The Shimadas were relatively quiet, Jack was professional and McCree was charming and had a talent to make anyone feel at home.

The group readjusted their meal trays and effects after the excitement.

“We did not expect to see you up and about so early.” Hanzo moved his tray to another table, obviously finished with his meal, and made room for them to sit.

“Debriefing,” Soren offered as an excuse with a wave of her hand as she sat next to the eldest Shimada. “You know the drill.” Smiling felt unnatural. She hadn’t done it in a while. Nor had she had to be involved in small talk in a while.

“It’s good to see you all.” Reyes looked around the table, his eyes falling on Jack for a moment too long.

“You two had us worried there, for sure.” McCree spoke up, and Soren looked him in the eyes for the first time since entering the room. “Mighty glad yer both back.”

Reyes wasn’t going to answer, it seemed. “Good to be back.” Soren tried to make it sound as genuine as possible, still holding his gaze. His hat and sarape were back in place, like nothing had changed. She smiled fondly at his getup. Casual conversation picked up from there. Thankfully no one asked them any specifics, and Reinhardt was happy enough to recount the events of his latest mission with Ana instead.

She wasn’t anywhere near comfortable, and she couldn’t really place why. She was happy to listen to someone else talk, surrounded by familiar faces, people she worked with, people she somewhat trusted. 

She couldn’t help the feeling that she had somewhere more important to be.

* * *

 

As expected, she saw other teammates around the base as the day went on. Some were preparing for their own missions and some were training. Others had some time off, for whatever reason.

She found herself outside her bedroom door at 1300, her hand hovering over the keypad that would let her in. Was she going to go to sleep? Read more news? Her face contorted in concentration, or more likely anger at herself. Why was she still standing there?

“Forgot your code?” McCree. He was ambling down the hallway towards her slowly, that smirk on his face. 

“Hey,” Her hand still hovered there, but she gave him a sheepish smile. “No, I just…”  _ don’t know what I’m doing here standing around like an idiot. _ “We should probably finish that drinking session.”

His eyes betrayed his surprise at that. He had obviously expected her to dodge him a while longer. But she had this new theory that running straight into the things that frighten you was probably the best way to get the panic attack over sooner rather than later. Brilliant.

“Now, usually I’d be all in for day drinking but…” He removed his hat smoothly and held it against his heart, leaning against his own door. The epitome of a southern gentleman cowboy. “You’ve got that debriefing this afternoon.” 

“That’s exactly why it’s a great idea, McCree.” His face softened into something she didn’t quite understand. She was still admiring him leaning there, when he opened his own door and gestured her in.

She only hesitated for a few seconds, then slipped inside.

The door shut and locked behind them.

“You’re stressed.” Her smile vanished as she turned around to look at him quizzically. He wasn’t pouring drinks; he was just standing there, taking her in. “You’re different.” He tossed his hat on his bed and draped the sarape over the nearest chair. 

Well, alright then. 

She was trained to assess the situation, so that’s what she did. McCree was asking for no bullshit. Her instinct was to put on her military face and tell him only what he needed to know. She let that wall down just an inch or two, though. She trusted McCree even before she trusted Reyes, she reminded herself.

“Of course I’m stressed.” She answered finally. This wasn’t a friendly chat. She could feel her facial muscles contracting into a guarded frown, and it wasn’t going to relax any time soon.

“What the hell happened over there?” He was slowly approaching her. He didn’t convey anger, he conveyed concern.

She needed a way out of that one. “You know the mission parameters.”

“The mission parameters don’t explain why you and Reyes come back all jumpy and...” he gestured wildly with his hands, trying to find the words, “...depressed.”

The last word hung in the air between them heavily. 

That was the last brick to the wall for her. Her expression stoic, she wasn’t giving him more than he needed. She didn’t fully understand why she was so… pissed off.

“Haven’t you ever had a hard mission, McCree?” Her voice was clipped, daring him to suggest anything else.

He looked apologetic, at least. “Of course. Of course. I just…”

They were exhausting each other.

“I just wanna help. Whatever it is.”

“You want to help?” She was the one who moved closer this time, “Don’t corner me.” They were inches apart now, and she hoped the close proximity and the toxicity in her tone would drive the point further. “I got back  _ this morning _ . It’s still fresh. I still have stitches. I have never failed this bad on a mission so excuse me for being  _ depressed  _ about it.”

The air around them changed too slowly. She was still breathing hard from her outburst.

“I’m sorry.” It was all he needed to say. Any more words and she would have left him in that room alone in a second.

She had to look away from the intensity of his eyes, scared she’d go blind. As she sighed her whole posture deflated. The argument was over, thank fuck.

His flesh hand gently picked up her own, and his thumb traced strong, assuring circles across her knuckles. She watched the splay of their fingers together. Wanting and ready to run at the same time.

He was waiting for her to decide what she’d do. Remembering her theory, she did the thing she would have usually run away from, their embrace in the early morning being an exception. She closed that small distance rather roughly, her other hand going to his back and tracing his spine there. Her face once again buried in his chest. With their hands still connected, his metal prosthetic curved around to rest on the back of her head, undoing the military code bun and molding his fingers with the strands of dark hair. His head rested atop hers, lips at her forehead, nose in her hair.

That constant battle between running and staying was like lightning strikes through her senses. But she let herself give in to this as completely as she could. Because if she was ever needy, it was right now. She figured she’d probably earnt it.

Decision made, she untangled their fingers and moved her hand to grasp the hair at the back of his neck, bringing his face closer to hers. She placed burning kisses to the side of his neck, working her way up.

He held her so tightly now, with both metal and flesh.

She breathed a small sigh when she found what she was looking for. Their lips met, no hesitation. All hungry, all possessive, all tongues. 

His hands had no idea what to hold on to. She felt them finally rest on the small of her back and her buttocks, giving him the best leverage to pull her up and into him, flush. That made him moan. Deep.

“McCree...” It wasn’t a moan, so much as a command. She jerked her head towards the wall.

He figured it out fast. Grabbing hold of the backs of her thighs, he lifted her to wrap her legs around his hips. Momentum had them slamming into the wall in question, pushing them straight back together to continue their actions. Her back against something hard, his hands cupping and groping her buttocks, his face retreated to her neck to bite, suck, kiss, lick the expanse of skin. Sensations she’d missed. 

“Stop calling me McCree.” He breathed out his own command between kisses.

“Fucking… four months. I wish you hadn’t gone on that mission.” He set her feet down now but continued pushing himself onto her against the wall, kissing her deeply, hands on her waist fighting for control. His knee separated her legs, and his thigh pushed up there, satisfying her ache.

“Jesse,” she moved against him, spilling his name out lazily. He loved that. Another moan from his lips into hers. “Fuck.” 

She felt too good for someone who had just come back from the shittest mission of her life. 

_ Shut up. Not the time. _

“In a second, darlin’.” She could feel that smirk through the kiss.

* * *

 

_ She had asked Gabe, about 5 weeks into the mission. It wasn’t stress relief. It wasn’t fun. It did feel good. They’d been at a safe house for a day, mostly sleeping. They knew they’d be thrown back into the center of it all the next day. She wasn’t bored. It wasn’t because they had downtime. No. It was probably more likely that they were both fucking terrified, and wanted to feel something else for a few minutes.  _

_ They’d already slept together most nights - slept next to each other, that is. But this time, she rolled over and grabbed his hand almost too hard and pulled him a little closer. She knew Reyes had a thing with Morrison. She had a thing with Je- … McCree. She was a shit person and the surrounding situation was absolutely no excuse. _

_ She took a gamble that he was binary when it came to sex. _

_ “Fuck me?” _

_ He did. He was just as bad as her. _

_ Guilty. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest I haven't written much further than this. I'm going to let the ideas form and see how we go from here.


	4. Clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got a bit intense. If you are uncomfortable with therapy sessions/talking about PTSD/pushy doctors you should skip this.  
> Oh man I'm kinda blocked about what to write. It's pretty much going to be stream of consciousness from here on. Sorry if I forget about proper grammar lol.   
> Thanks again to those who actually read the first 3 chapters :3 Hope you like this one.

_ 0530. _

It wasn’t OCD. She had been a military trained soldier before Overwatch took her in. Cleaning her own guns was her duty.

Stocking the guns with ammunition was not necessary while on base, but she did it anyway.

She could have given her guns to the requisition team and they would have taken care of them. But seeing as she had trust issues when it came to her weapons, that wasn’t going to happen. And this way they were ready.

_ Ready for what? _

Her very clean pistol was in pieces on the table in front of her. 

Reyes had cracked the code to her door while she’d been sleeping a few nights before. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. But he was there, and most nights since returning. Sleeping on her bed. She’d have to talk that out with him soon. Couldn’t keep happening. For both of their sakes.

With a few short movements, her pistol was back together and loaded. She placed it down again, next to a sniper rifle and automatic machine gun. Overkill.

The debriefing had been… a struggle. 

 

* * *

 

_ “... He had troops stationed in the city and behind the far west hills. He...” Reyes’ voice was slow. His gaze at his feet, frowning. Winston and Morrison were there. Both had tablets, presumably looking at the mission brief and taking down notes. They were mostly interested in what had gone wrong.  _

_ What hadn’t gone wrong? _

_ “He?” Winston interjected. _

_ Reyes wasn’t paying attention. “The commander, sir. Tariq,” Soren jumped in. _

_ Winston nodded and Reyes continued.  _

_ She didn’t want to hear what Reyes was saying. She was blocking. That’s fine. _

_ Anxiety rose through her chest so slowly it was physically painful. _

_ Tariq. _

* * *

 

About an hour later her guns were clean, stocked and back in the bag she stored under her bed. She left the room quietly, Reyes lightly snoring as she closed the door behind herself.

With her hands stuffed in her jacket pockets, she headed across the base towards Ziegler's.

She liked the base in the early morning. It was colder than during the day, there was a soft light that melted onto the buildings and most importantly, there was no one around. No noise.

She knocked on the doctor's heavy door.

"Come in!"

She rubbed her hands on her pants before pushing open the door. The doctor was tidying her desk as she entered.

"Good morning, doctor." Soren gave her a small smile as she sat in the patient chair in front of her desk.

"Good morning, Keva. I'm surprised you wanted to meet so early." The doctor wasn't wearing her usual white coat, and instead had on a comfortable jumper and jeans. 

"Sorry. I hope you don't mind - I want to get through a lot of stuff today." Soren tried to make herself comfortable in the chair, but it was impossible. Did they make chairs for doctor's offices uncomfortable on purpose? It sure seemed like it.

"The only thing you should be doing is healing, Keva. What's the rush?" The doctor leaned forward and crossed her arms, observing Soren intently. 

There was a moment of silence, and Soren frowned, amused.

"Has the psych eval started, doctor?" Ziegler only raised an eyebrow and her lips quirked upwards fractionally. 

_I guess so._

Soren clicked her jaw and looked around the doctor's office to avoid her gaze.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions. Please answer them honestly and don't think too much about your answers." The doctor opened a drawer behind her desk and pulled out a digital tablet and stylus. "How have you generally been feeling since you got back?"

Soren immediately decided she wasn't ready for this. But after one deep breath in, she shocked herself by giving the truthful answer to the doctor's question.

"Displaced." The doctor's expression did not change but she felt hers forming into a frown, surprised at herself and not sure how to explain her answer further.

She opened her mouth to try and explain her way out of that but thankfully the doctor wasn't waiting for an explanation. 

"I've noticed you and operative Reyes have been spending a lot of time together." That one threw her a little. What did that have to do with her psych eval?

"We've been through a lot. It makes sense to stay close."

"Nothing's going to happen to you on the base. You understand that don't you?"

_I'm not a child, doctor._

"Yes." She hadn't meant to reply so sharply. She caught herself. "What I meant was we're just used to being around each other."

"Have you spent much time with the other operatives, your friends?" 

"I've seen most of them during meals or in passing around the base." 

_Or drinking whisky on the balcony._

"And have you talked with them about your previous mission?"

"No, not really."

"Why is that, do you think?"

She was silent for about 10 seconds. With each question her patience became more strained and her lips tighter.

"Please try not to think too hard about your answers, Keva. Why haven't you talked about the mission?"

"I... don't _want_ to talk about it. The mission was a failure. There's nothing _to_ talk about." Soren shrugged as if this should be obvious. It was obvious.

"Are you disappointed in yourself and Reyes?" Soren's mouth fell open slightly. The doctor really wasn't pulling any punches here.

A few more seconds passed. "The situation was beyond our control."

Why did she feel as if she had to explain herself? Protect herself and Reyes?

This time the silence came from the doctor.

"You didn't answer the question." The doctor shifted her posture back into the seat, the end of the stylus carefully poised at her chin. "I can't continue until you do."

She knew this was necessary but Ziegler was really making it hard for Soren not to hate her.

"The situation _was_ beyond our control." A mild headache was slowly throbbing it's way to the front of her head as she spoke. "I don't blame Reyes."

"Do you blame yourself?"

"I could have done more." She said it matter-of-factly.

"That's not fair, Keva." Ziegler shifted back to her original position in her chair and took some notes with the stylus.

The tablet was angled away from Soren. She stared at the back of it hard, as if she could develop x-ray vision if she tried hard enough.

"Everyone believes they could have done more. But there's no going back in time, is there? We can't change the past no matter how hard we try."

Soren was sure it was just because she was slightly angry at the doctor, but she couldn't help but let the thought slip through her mind.

_Yes I fucking can._

She waited for the next question, deciding not to provide commentary this time.

"You went through a traumatic experience."  _Thank you for stating the obvious._ "Do you find yourself dwelling on this experience an unusual amount?"

"What's an unusual amount?" It was a serious question.

"Late at night, making it difficult to sleep."  _Yes._ "Always at the back of your mind while you're talking to someone."  _Check._ "Having flashbacks, or recurrent memories." _Bullseye._

"Have you experienced anything like that since you returned?"

"I wouldn't say so, no."

The doctor took more notes and Soren's heart rate went up steadily.

"Keva... do you remember why you joined Overwatch?"

_Getting off topic, doctor._

"It was my only option after leaving the military."

"After you were discharged, you mean?"

Soren cleared her throat, her throat suddenly very dry before she answered, "Yes."

"When you first came to us, you were suffering some symptoms of PTSD. Do you remember how you felt then?"

Wasn't there some kind of clause stating Ziegler couldn't bring this up ever again?

"I try not to think about it, doctor." Ziegler looked at her expectantly. Soren knew she was visibly distressed (or angry) now, but she didn't bother trying to hide it. The doctor was crossing a line.

"Yes, I remember. Why are you bringing this up?"

"Would you say the way you are feeling now is similar to how you felt then?"

_No._

"No."

"No? I have the notes from your last psych eval here. Do you mind if I read them out to you?"

Soren turned her head sharply away from the doctor. She tasted bile instead of a dry throat. Her heart was beating dangerously now, sweat formed on her forehead.

"I'd rather you didn't." Her voice was louder than she had meant it to be. Her hands had started shaking in her lap.

She made fists.

"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable, Keva. But I would like you to see how you and myself described your previous experience." She reached forwards and placed the tablet on the desk, the text facing Soren.

"Please take your time and read this."

It took a full half a minute before Soren could calm the shaking and reach out for the tablet. She had counted the seconds.

 

_File under operative Soren, Keva._

_Psychological evaluation 01._

_Processed for Overwatch entry._

 

_Doctor's notes:_

_Keva expressing symptoms of PTSD._

_Possible trigger: military uniforms? Uniforms of any kind?_

_Squeamish at the sight of blood._

_Dishonorable discharge from US military 6 months prior to psych eval._

_#-- (redacted) Infantry (patient's station) involved in __________ (redacted)._

_Patient feels "displaced" outside of military life and guilty. Patient believes that she "should have done more"._

_Obvious signs of trauma._

_Dr. Ziegler requests regular inclusion in training to start as soon as possible._

_Socialisation with non-military personnel essential to patient recovery._

 

After Soren had read the file, she counted another minute before looking back up at the doctor. In that minute she stopped shaking, and she was trying to take control of her heart rate.

She had played nice enough.

"This was years ago. I don't even remember it. I'm not answering any more questions."

The doctor's eyebrows shot up as she took the pad back, "You don't wish to continue with the evaluation?"

"Not at all." Soren let out a small, breathy laugh that had nothing to do with humour, only disbelief. 

"Keva, I'm sorry if I've upset you but this is compulsory for any operative who has been through a traumatic experience." She pushed the pad back into the desk drawer, as if it couldn't hurt anyone if it was out of view.

_That's it._

"Listen to me, doctor." Soren stood up from the chair suddenly, knocking it a few centimeters backwards. "I know for a fact Overwatch doesn't have the time or money to send all of their recruits to regular therapy. All of us are fucked up. Why are you persisting?" She leaned over the doctor's desk and made fists on it. Their eyes met in a power play.

The doctor seemed to shocked to respond.

"I'd like to officially state that your method of evaluation today was intrusive and downright insensitive. You can include that on my file before I leave." She nodded towards the desk drawer before continuing, "You're not putting me on a probationary period. You're not rescheduling this evaluation. You're not going to do anything."

The doctor was leaning away from Soren, her mouth open and slack. The doctor didn't often look this surprised. But then, Soren didn't often look this intimidating towards any of her fellow operatives.

"Patient autonomy," Soren stated simply as she moved her weight from the desk back onto her own two legs. She straightened up and gave the doctor a mock salute. 

"Goodbye doctor. Thank you for your counsel. Let's not do this ever again."

She turned on her heel and closed the door loudly behind her.

_Breathe._

_Breathe, Keva._

* * *

 

Something had snapped.

Soren had felt powerful leaving that office. But seconds later she felt... afraid.

Of herself?

She rounded the corner from Ziegler's and ran straight into something hard.

If she wasn't angry already, now she was fuming.

She had bumped into the last thing she wanted to see right now: another human being.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Reyes?" Truthfully, he had scared the shit out of her even thought it was probably her fault for not looking where she was going and cursing the doctor and herself under her breath instead.

Reyes grasped her shoulders hard and bent his head down a little so they were on the same level.

"Are you ok?" What a stupid question. "You look awful."

She tried to calm herself down and his hands moved up and down with her shoulders as she sighed deeply.

"I just had a fucked up psych eval, Reyes. I'm angry. I'm... confused."

"You don't say." He let go of her shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look strong. "Anything I should know about? I'm doing my eval soon."

She was ready to turn around and leave this conversation but... 

_For Reyes' sake._

_Keva, talk to him._

"Do you..." She tried, "Do you... think you have PTSD? From everything?" She looked at his chest, not his eyes. Her voice wavered.

She couldn't see his expression but he took too long to answer.

"I... don't know, Soren." Another long pause. Her eyes had moved down to his feet. "Do you?"

She backed away a few paces and only when there was some distance between them did she meet his confused, guarded, concerned gaze.

"I don't know, Reyes."

She was terrified.

She nodded at her friend  _\- good luck -_ before turning around and walking away.

The light on the buildings had become brighter, the shadows cast more sharply than earlier in the morning.


End file.
